ANZACS IN FRANCE.

Taranaki Daily News, 29 July 1916, Page 9

ANZACS IN FRANCE.

OFF TO THE -FIRINTfi LINE. NEW ZEALANDERS MARCH OUT. (By Malcolm Ross, Official Correspondent with the X.Z. Forces). Northern France, May 28. Months of training iaiid! action in varied lands and climes have familiarised us with the details of active service —with the tragedy and the comedy of war, for, in so far as the Anzacg are concerned, we have our moments of gaiety as well as of sadness 1 . Tragedy has come hot-foot over the ilex-covered ridges and marched stealthily across the hot desert sands to meet us face to face in 'trench and dug-out. And in interludes in the lighting and in the fighting itself comedy has 'Walked with us hand-in-hand. And so it is here, and will be to the end. In these days of stress and strain it is difficult for the war correspondent to descend from the general to the particular, but in these and the following articles I shall endeavor to give some description of the sights and sounds met with in and about our sector.

THE DISTANT GUNS. On the evening of our arrival the air was palpitating with the throbbing sound of a distant c-annonadc. The loud booming of the bigger guns and the inure staccato banging of the smaller ones came in an incessant chorus across the tields anil the forests, rising and falling in a cadence that seemed as if

it would he never-ending. For miles at night-lime the sky was lit with the Hashes of artillery. Flares sent from the distant trenches illumined the clouds, and at intervals the ioiig bright lingers of the searchlights waved across the firmament. Away in the south a Hashing light rose intermittently above the tree tops. This was the glare of furnaces, from the throats of which poured the molten steel that means so much to a modern army. What all this was about we. did not know. It was l not in our sector. It did not concern us intimately. It was simply an indication of the vast enterprise in which we had become involved.

A G IC.ANTIC STRUGGLE. The enterprises in which we had engaged in the past were vast enough in all conscience, vet tho mind' reels before the new and move gigantic manifestations with which we are confronted. From day to day one looks at the brief communique posted at Headquarters, and notes that some aircraft lias been brought down or that some bit of trench has been lost or taken. It is a bald announcement. Imagination must fill in the details. It is a bald announcement in a period of comparative activity. It seems all so dreadfuly bald aud prosaic, and there is an irritating sameness about it all. Yet we who are on the spot know that day and night all along the line men are being killed and wounded, and that the best brains of the opposing nations are working and scheming and plotting 'to end it all as quickly as may be. The war seems to have settled down along a narrow strip of territory stretching for hundreds, nay, for thousands of miles across the land. Behind that line the world goes on with its work —feverishly in the centres where guns and ammunition are being made, but with the same old quiet rural simplicity w.here the grass is growing, and the corn is daily coming nearer to the ear under the alternating influence of rain and summer sunshine. In the narrow battle zone men are at grips with all the diabolical appliances of modern warfare, and new machines that we must not describe are being pressed into the service of mankilling. On our small sector comparative calm reigns, though Death takes his daily toil. On the "Italian frontier, as I write, there is a vast and deadly struggle going on. At Verdun the enemy, with what almost seems the madness of despair, is hurling battalions and brigades and divisions in a vain attempt at victory. The clash of arms there is on a truly gigantic scale, and the carnage too dreadful to contemplate. But Venhin is a long way oil', and the sounds of its most intense cannonade do not even faintly reach our ears. THE BRIGADES MARCH OUT. For a time the Anzacs were scattered over a large area. The, Australian:* were ■the first to go into the trendies, and it was not long before they had their new baptism of lire with German high explosive. Then our brigades began to march out. Even one brigade, with all its impedimenta, makiji a great showing on tho road. Ou a beautiful summer day two of the brigades came tramping along the hard paved roads, through country lands and towns and villages. For hours 1 watched them jxissing—sturdy sons from the Southern land—and for a time marched with them, chatting to old friends and acquaintances. They were in high spirits, eager to get into the trenches and pit -their valor against that of the Boc'ie. With waggons anil motor lorries, and machinegun sections and ambulances, with travelling kitchens—chimneys smoking and pots steaming—with their hands playing, with snatches of song, and, at intervals, a tune whistled, they came along a road lined with apple trees in gay blossom. The blare of the trumpets and the roll of the drum gave an aid of the old-time wars to the scene. It was all so very different from what we were used to on Gallipoli. They swung over a bridge, and men and .horses and -waggons were duplicated in the placid waters of the straight eanal. From the beautiful grounds of an ancient chateau that existed- -when we fought other wars, here —and centuries before —the Baronne, shrewd, capable and witty, watched them pass. 'The villagers at tile doors of their steep-tiled red and brown cottages gazed at the new soldiers with interest and curiosity. They were something difl'erent from what they had seen, Yet many British feet had tramped along here since the war began. The peasants—French and Flemishmostly old men and women and children, leaned on their hoes in the field and watched them pass with swinging stride. At the bridge a military policeman, with nodding grey emu plumes in his picturesque slouch hot, sitting his horse with the airy grace of the stockman, smiled down at them. To him the men in passing made cherry, chaffing remarks. "Hallo, Australia, how goes it?" one man called. "Boiizor," replied the horseman. •'What ho, Emu! How's the kangaroo'/" queried another. "Still jumping," replied the laconic horseman. But of all 'the enquiries the most pertinent was from the tired, dry pilgrim, who wanted to know how far it was to the next estaminet. For it was a hot day, and that particular soldier was thinking more of beer than battle. For five hours the rumble

of wheels and the tramp of marching men sounded in the village. The men carried their rillcs and packs, and the dull green of their new steel helmets strapped at their backs made a. note of color in the drab khaki of the column. We watched tho loag columns bend round through the village, and a mile away across the green fields, where the road wound through tall elma and beeches, we saw the dull kha.ki ribbon streaming along the forest road. Near, by the axes of the pioneer Maoris were ringing on the .hard wood of that beautiful forest. But it was a hot day, and the marching over the hard "pave" of -tJje roads of Northern France told on tho feet of the men. A few days later one of the brigades marched back to billets, and another brigade came on to take their place. On the whole march only one man fell out from this brigade: ''There's rothing like the old lot," said one of them proudly to ine the next day. Theirs certainly was a fine performance. They had a good sprinkling of old Anzacs amongst them. On another day 'we watched: the artillery go past. They are a fine lot, the artillery, and with their added batteries, their howitzers and iields guns, ammunition waggons and general transport, and their line-looking horses in tiptop condition, they lc jde an excellent showing. Like the men, they will have to bear the brunt of much heavier shelling than they got on Gallipoli, but they will be able to dig well in, and will be spread over a much greater area of country. They will at least be away from the bullets in this new battlefield.